


Put Into Perspective

by DasWarSchonKaputt



Series: Head Over Feet 'Verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1512569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasWarSchonKaputt/pseuds/DasWarSchonKaputt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson isn’t just rich and gorgeous; he’s also older than Kurt by at least ten years. That’s enough to push him out of the territory of <i>boy</i> -– a territory Kurt still inhabits, regardless of the age of consent in Ohio –- and straight into the territory of <i>man</i>.</p><p>Or: five times people disapprove of Kurt and Blaine's relationship, and one time they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. Cally Whytt

**Author's Note:**

> I never writes sequels. Until I do. So the first chapter is written from the perspective of an OC, but I like to think she's pretty inoffensive.

Cally moves to Lima during the summer between her junior and senior year of high school.

She’s not happy about it.

It’s not that McKinley High isn’t a decent high school; from what she can tell, it’s actually pretty good (compared to some of the schools she’s seen) for academics and extracurriculars. It’s not even the fact that she’s going to be living with her scum-of-the earth father for the entirety of her senior year.

It’s the fact that it’s _Lima._ In Ohio.

Which – okay, she gets it – could be worse. It’s supposed to be all cute and small-town-y – the type of place that Mom would have _loved_ – but Cally just thinks of sunny San Fran, of battered converse and sea breeze, and thinks that wherever she ended up was just going to _suck_ by comparison.

It’s with a somewhat sour attitude and a solid determination to hate every second of her time here that Cally walks up to the front office of McKinley High to report in for her first day. She glowers her way through the conversation with the nosey secretary, collects her timetable, turns and walks … _straight into another student._

At average height, with the most well-styled hair she has ever seen and the barest hint of muscle tone showing underneath what looks to be a veritable _armour_ of clothes, this guy is pretty good looking. He’s also ice cold in every meaning of the word, and outright _glares_ at Cally as he moves to pick up his stuff – textbooks, a ream of fabric, _Vogue,_ okay, stereotypes aside, this guy’s probably gay.

Ignoring the chill of _brave_ that sinks into her mind, Cally offers him a hand up, because, angry as she may be about Lima – _Lima_ – she hasn’t forgotten about basic human manners and interactions.

The other guy doesn’t take her hand. In fact, he looks up only to give Cally the most disdainful look she has _ever_ experienced.

Fair enough. Figuring she’s made her basic effort – good turn for the day _done_ – Cally drops her hand and walks past him without so much as looking back.

As she leaves, however, she can’t help but overhear the too-chipper-for-her-own-good secretary say, “Oh, Kurt, there you are. Shall we talk?”

* * *

Kurt doesn’t have any classes with Cally except for healthy class, she soon learns. According to Zainab – the pretty Nigerian girl who offered her a pencil to sketch with in their shared art class – he’s one of the band geeks, or something, and has a different timetable to her own art-oriented one. He and a bunch of other kids – the name Rachel Berry is mentioned, accompanied by a sneer – are in this singing and dancing club, or something, which – stereotypes once more aside – doesn’t surprise Cally in the least.

“So is he popular or something?” Cally asks in between bites of her crummy homemade sandwich – it’s just butter and bread; Dad forgot to go grocery shopping _again_ – and Zainab looks at her like she’s cracked.

“Hummel?” she asks, half-incredulous, half-amused. “What gave you that impression?”

“Well, you seemed to know who I was talking about when I said his name,” Cally hedges. “And I don’t know, he seems to be friends with a lot of cheerleaders,” she shrugs. “I assumed.”

Zainab shakes her head. “First, those cheerleaders – not his friends,” she explains. “They didn’t even know who he was until he won them nationals a couple of years back.”

And, okay, that wasn’t what she was expecting.

“And secondly,” Zainab continues, “we don’t talk about Kurt because he’s popular. That’s like saying fame’s the same as infamy.”

And now Cally just _has_ to know. “Go on,” she says.

“Hummel thought it would be a good idea to try and make history all by himself,” Zainab says, then clarifies. “He’s gay – _flaming_ and _out_ and _proud._ ” She rolls her eyes. “Stupid is more like it,” she mutters under her breath.

_That_ sounds ominous. “Stupid?” Cally prompts.

Zainab shakes her head. “Yeah,” she reiterates. “Stupid. Like he thought being gay in Ohio was going to be a picnic in the park, or something.” She roughly shoves her lunch tray away from her and kicks back in her seat. “There was this whole _thing_ last year with a jock who tried to kill him, or something, and there was all this talk about him transferring, but he just came right back at the end of the year.”

“Right,” Cally says, feeling a little sick.

Zainab just shrugs. “Stuff like that happens in Lima. No one gives a damn.”

Cally drops the remainders of her butter sandwich and calculates how many days before she can escape this hellhole.

* * *

“So, about Kurt,” Cally starts, painting a broad stroke of colour on her canvas.

“What about him?” Zainab asks, the paintbrush in her teeth making her words come out garbled and half-incoherent.

“Does he have a boyfriend?” she asks, out of idle _curiosity,_ not because she’s interested, because she’s _not._

Sighing deeply, Zainab removes the paintbrush from her mouth and shakes her head sympathetically at Cally.

“What?” Cally demands.

Zainab just shakes her head again. “You’re not the first, and knowing our gender, you probably won’t be the last, but this isn’t something you want to pursue.”

“ _Really_ not what I was asking,” Cally tells her quickly, but then her mind catches up with the response. “What do you mean, I’m not the first?”

“He had a fling with Brittany,” Zainab explains, then frowns. “Must have been sophomore year. It was… well, you know Brittany.”

“It _really_ wasn’t about that,” Cally insists, storing the information away for later. “Just—people keep saying this shit about him, and I kind of have to wonder how much of it is true and how much of it is just shit people say—” Cally breaks off when she sees the look on Zainab’s face. “What?”

“You really are new to Lima aren’t you?” she muses, then straightens up. “To answer your question, yes, Kurt does have a boyfriend.”

“Do you know his name?”

Zainab sighs, like she wishes she didn’t. “Blaine Anderson.”

* * *

 

It makes sense really – the real reason why no one can shut up about Kurt Hummel at McKinley High. It’s nothing to do with his near offensive flamboyancy, or his – by the sounds of it at least – salacious past with several cheerleaders, or even the whole attempted murder – Cally’s still not sure if this actually happened – and subsequent transfer rumours.

Because, well, murder is sexy, but there’s nothing sexier than sex.

It’s the talk of the town, apparently, and Cally is kind of lost as to how she managed to miss all this during the month she’s already been in Lima.

Kurt Hummel: seventeen years old and dating a man ten years older than him. Kurt Hummel: gay and has the audacity to be open about it. Kurt Hummel: gay and has the _audacity_ to _act_ onit _._

No, Cally really doesn’t know how she missed it, because Blaine Anderson picks Kurt up from school at least twice a week – in a shiny silver BMW that is really difficult to miss in amongst the other rust-buckets lining the school parking lot – and has been seen dropping him off often enough that it’s not uncommon. And every time the healthy class teacher – Morrigan? God, Cally doesn’t even care – talks about their partners pressuring them into things they aren’t ready for, he directs at least _half_ of his entire speech at Kurt.

(And Kurt just sits there and takes it, impassive in a way that Cally could never be, but looks so _angry,_ and _bitter_ , and Cally actually finds it in her heart to pity him for five minutes, before Zainab’s vitriol replays in her head, and unbidden and unwelcome, the thought comes: _you asked for it_.)

Cally really isn’t sure how she feels about it all.

She isn’t _disapproving,_ sure, but she doesn’t exactly _condone_ it, either.

Blaine Anderson is hot – there’s no denying that – but he seems… Well, dangerous would be a bit far, but fake, maybe, too polished and insincere. He oozes power too, and that doesn’t seem to bode well.

Kurt is, however, not hot. Sure, he’s elegant, maybe, and most certainly attractive in a higher-elfin-beauty kind of way, but he lacks the confidence about him to be _hot._ Insecure, Cally would guess, and looking at the clothes he wears – layers upon layers, like chainmail and a tunic – Cally thinks he’s trying to build something out of himself, something that maybe he’s not ready for.

Then there’s the money.

Blaine Anderson isn’t just painfully sexy – there’s something about a man in a suit, Mom once said, and suits are to women what lingerie is to men – but he’s also rich as hell. And, if the fact that Kurt is dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes day-in day-out is any indication, he’s not afraid to throw that money around. He drives a BMW, for God’s sake – that is not the car of someone trying to hide their wealth.

Kurt is – well, his father is a mechanic, and his brother – step-brother, Finn Hudson, he’s on the football squad – dresses in worn down jeans and patchy hoodies, so, no, he’s not made of money.

And then there’s the age-gap.

Because Blaine Anderson isn’t just rich and gorgeous; he’s also older than Kurt by at _least_ ten years. That’s enough to push him out of the territory of _boy_ – a territory Kurt still inhabits, regardless of the age of consent in Ohio – and straight into the territory of _man._

What Cally means is – that’s a heck of a lot of shit to be able to hold over someone. When there’s that sort of gap in power in a relationship, it rarely ever turns out well.

But Kurt doesn’t seem oppressed. He’s not happy at school, but he doesn’t—he doesn’t look like he’s in an unhealthy relationship – and Cally _knows_ what unhealthy relationships look like – but, _still._ Blaine Anderson – what kind of fully-grown man dates a high-schooler?

It’s not really her business, though, Cally will concede. She’s got other stuff on her plate – namely making sure she graduates despite her failing grade in chemistry – and there’s only so much you can do for someone who doesn’t want your help.

She learns to ignore the more extravagant of the Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel rumours – seriously? How the fuck would you even know about what Kurt says in bed? Yeah, right, _sure_ – and manages to scrape together enough brains to pass her chemistry final with flying colours.

Then comes prom.

She doesn’t really want to go, but Zainab does, so she pulls out her old junior prom dress and does her hair and make-up, and goes without so much as complaining. Okay, she complains a _little,_ but she figures it’s less of a whingey spiel of how unfair this is and more of a way of formally registering her displeasure. Zainab hooks her up with a date – some other guy from their art class – and Cally resigns herself to the fact that she’s going to have to dance at least _once_ with this kid.

It’s halfway through a slow-dance that lasts far too long that Cally spots Kurt’s friends. They’re laughing, joking and dancing their way through the evening, but Cally … can’t see Kurt. Which is weird, because Cally _knows_ he came to the dance – was stuck behind him as they queued for their photos, and had to listen to him bitch at Mercedes about how _trashy_ a dinosaur-themed prom was.

(It is kind of trashy, Cally agrees, and seriously weird, but whatever. Cally’s not here to have fun anyway.)

Cally escapes the embrace of her date as soon as she can, and pushes her way through the crowd of people, desperate for air. God, she’s almost out of this place; she can survive a lousy dance with a cheesy soundtrack and the vinegary stench of slightly tipsy teenagers.

And that’s when she finds Kurt.

Back against the lockers, head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder, Kurt looks the most relaxed that Cally has ever seen him. Gone are the layers, gone are the glares – he looks like a teenager.

And they may not be dancing, but everything about their position feels far more intimate than the dance she shared with her overly-enthusiastic date. Kurt says something, the words lost against his boyfriend’s shoulder, and it must be witty or something, because the Blaine guy’s face cracks into a full smile. He turns his head and—

Cally would _kill_ to have someone look at her like that.

He murmurs something back and Kurt just smiles – wicked and mischevious – before prodding Blaine lightly in the ribs.

They do it without realising it. Like it’s _normal._

And Cally _knows_ what unhealthy relationships look like – she’s seen it played out before her in her own life – and she wonders how on earth two idiots with so much against them managed to somehow get it right where her parents failed.

So Cally turns around and walks away.


	2. ii. Mercedes Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine, of course, is faultlessly charming.
> 
> Mercedes kind of wants to punch him.
> 
> (Kurt probably wouldn’t speak to her for like a week, but it would be so worth it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! New segment! Ugh, the timeline in this 'verse is so fucked up. Okay, basically, last segment took place in Kurt's senior year -- this one takes place in his junior. He starts dating Blaine around December his junior year, transfers out after junior prom, transfers back at the end of said year.

It goes like this: Kurt is Mercedes’ best friend.

It’s because of this simple fact that Mercedes has the somewhat dubious honour of being the first to know about Kurt’s relationship with Blaine. That in turn makes Mercedes the first to _worry_ about Kurt’s relationship with Blaine.

And best friends look out for each other, but they’re not family – not in the same way that Burt is to Kurt, or Mercedes’ mom and dad are to her – and the ties that bind them aren’t so permanent as blood. So Mercedes doesn’t do anything like forbid Kurt from seeing Blaine, or refuse to cover for him when he and Blaine go on dates, or say the things she wants to say about Blaine.

It goes like this: Kurt is Mercedes’ best friend and she will _lose_ him if she makes him choose.

Sometimes she thinks that it makes her a bad person, biting her tongue when Kurt shifts nervously on her bed and tells her that he’s not a virgin anymore, and sometimes she thinks it makes her an enabler, choosing to lie to Mr Hummel when faced with the possibility that Kurt will _leave_ her, but—

But that first night, after his first date with Blaine, Kurt had come back with this small private smile on his face and he’d sat down opposite Mercedes the next morning, wrung his hands tight and told her that he needed an ally.

He didn’t say friend.

It was then, Mercedes thinks, that she realised that for the moment at least, Blaine was going to come first. It’s not easy coming to terms with the fact that you’re a second choice, but Mercedes is Kurt’s best friend, and that matters to her. It matters to Kurt too, she knows, just—

Not as much.

Which, yes, it stings, but it’s okay. She’s Kurt’s friend, but he needs an ally, not a friend. Kurt’s not just her best friend; he’s her _only,_ and she used to be that for Kurt too, and she’s not ready to let go of that, not yet, not ever. So Mercedes swallows the concerns that threaten to bubble out of her mouth and asks what he needs her to do.

It’s not a surrender – like hell is she giving up on this – but it’s a tactical retreat. Mercedes will choose her battles and, if and when this thing Kurt has with Blaine implodes, it’ll be all that much better for them both for her to have been there throughout it all. And Mercedes _loves_ Kurt, and she’s not going to leave him alone to deal with the mess of putting himself back together after having torn himself apart.

Kurt knows she doesn’t like it, though. God forbid the day that anyone could ever hide anything from Kurt Hummel.

But Mercedes is too selfish to lose her best friend over this.

* * *

 

So sue Mercedes if she isn’t on her best manners when she meets Blaine for the first time. It takes all of her considerable self-restraint not to read the guy the Riot Act. What did he expect, though? In what world was Mercedes ever going to approve of some middle-aged creep – a very good looking middle-aged creep, because, bad judgement aside, Kurt has always had good taste – dating her best friend? This isn’t a young adult novel and this isn’t a naively upbeat rom-com; the age-gap isn’t romantic and it isn’t a sign of how strong their love is. It’s dangerous.

Blaine, of course, is faultlessly charming.

Mercedes kind of wants to punch him.

(Kurt probably wouldn’t speak to her for like a week, but it would be _so_ worth it.)

Mercedes isn’t blind though. Shamelessly biased against the older man, yes, but blind, no. Although it begrudges her to admit it, even she can see that Kurt and Blaine are good together, and that they are _hopelessly_ besotted with each other. That, however, doesn’t make this any less dangerous. If anything, it’s more so.

She tells this to Kurt, who roll his shoulders uncomfortably, and mutters back that he knows and he doesn’t want to talk about this Mercedes, so can you just drive?

She really doesn’t like this, but she loves Kurt, so she agrees.

* * *

 

Blaine is persistent in his attempts to win Mercedes over. Mercedes, on the other hand, is stubborn as hell – something she learned from Kurt – and it doesn’t take Blaine long to realise that frosty acquaintances is about as far as their relationship is going to progress. Their interactions never move past cordial – forcibly polite, on Mercedes’ case, all grit teeth and passive aggression – greetings and goodbyes.

Each night she covers for Kurt – lies to Mr Hummel down the phone, and all but kills her a bit each time – Kurt sends her updates every two hours until they either both go to bed or Kurt makes his way back to hers. The texts she gets are either deadly sarcastic _(Blaine has yet to sell me into the white slave trade, but don’t worry, I’m on my guard just in case)_ or really, really short _(still alive)_ and each time she gets one, Mercedes rolls her eyes, and sends back the same reply.

_Let me know if you need me to come get you._

She doesn’t ever get a reply back to that text.

Mercedes really isn’t okay with this, but she’s doing her best to make this less dangerous for Kurt, and maybe that’s a lot more admirable than blind trust and acceptance.

* * *

 

Somehow, somewhere along the line, someone takes the vague murmurings of ‘ _Homo Hummel’_ having a secret piece of XY chromosome on the side, and spirals it into an entire salacious tale. Far too many of the details hit home for it to just be a random rumour, or a lucky guess, and it’s two days before they’ve figured out Blaine’s name. The secret is well and truly out, and Mercedes waits for Kurt to storm in, demanding to know _who she told,_ and waits to have to fight for her innocence, but Kurt doesn’t storm in, and Kurt doesn’t accuse her.

Part of her thinks that this is because he trusts her. The other part says it’s because he never trusted her enough to keep it under wraps.

When she sees Kurt next – Glee club, and the things they _say_ about him, God, aren’t they supposed to be his _friends_? – he just looks tired. His face is hard, though, and she knows that he’s not backing down. It’s the thing about him; Kurt will always bend and bend and bend and never break.

But he just looks so _tired._

Mercedes doesn’t have it in her to interrogate him over their relationship, because it’s not about her. It’s about him, and it’s about Blaine, and for some whacked out reason, half of McKinley seems convinced it’s also about them.

And Mercedes is selfish – horribly so, such that she wonders if she truly deserves a friend like Kurt – but she’s not so selfish that she’s going to sit there and say, “I told you so,” when all of this _poison_ is being flung at him. He needs someone to sit beside him, to stay out of it all, and act as safe-ground.

So that’s what she does.

Because she told him she would be his ally, and Kurt Hummel is her best friend.

* * *

 

Kurt may have a boyfriend – and good God, McKinley, it’s been four days, just shut up already – but he doesn’t have a prom date. There are restrictions about this sort of thing and, anyway, Kurt says, he’s not about to expose Blaine to the ugliness and all-round hate that make up McKinley High.

So, Kurt may be dating Blaine Anderson, but he’s Mercedes’ best friend, and her date to junior prom.

Kurt puts aside two consecutive weekends to get them fitted out for it, and they drive down to the Lima Mall, blasting out power ballads on Kurt’s car stereo. At first, Mercedes feels a balloon of triumph stretch out inside her, because this is the old Kurt – the one she knows and loves – and pre-Blaine Kurt knows and loves her back. Then, of course, she mentions Blaine and Kurt lets it slip that he’s in LA for work for the next couple of weeks and it hits her. Second choice. Again.

It’s okay, though. She’ll live.

Kurt is in his element, here, though, and it’s hard to be mad at someone who seems so obliviously happy as Kurt right now. He darts around the stores, dragging her behind him, and caresses his way through all the prom dresses, muttering about skin-tones and body-shapes.

Halfway through her trying on what must be the _thousandth_ prom dress, Kurt’s phone buzzes with a text. His entire face lights up when he reads it, and for a second, Mercedes wonders who it is that makes Kurt look so gloriously happy.

Then, she realises she knows exactly who it is.

For some reason, it doesn’t seem to bother her as much anymore.

* * *

 

When exactly Mercedes stops waiting for something to break, she isn’t sure. She just knows that Kurt’s getting crap at school – which isn’t out of the ordinary, but this is _different_ – and his father doesn’t know yet, and something should be collapsing now.

But it doesn’t.

And it’s clear. It’s been clear all along.

This isn’t going to end, or implode and this isn’t just a fling. This is the sort of thing that teenagers always delude themselves into thinking they’ve found in high school, never realising how utterly un-unique they are in their obsession.

Kurt’s not deluded, though.

“You really love him, don’t you,” Mercedes says as they drive back from the mall, like it’s a revelation. It kind of is.

Kurt smiles – that old, fond smile, saying, _it took you a while_ – and flexes his fingers around the steering wheel. “Yeah,” he says.

Things do implode, though, just not in the way Mercedes expects. Kurt gets voted prom queen and his face just goes _pale,_ but he walks up to the stage, head held fucking high, eyes saying, _go on, laugh, I dare you,_ and rams that crown on his head with a sarcastic smile.

“God save the fucking queen,” he spits into the mike, and jumps down from the stage – kilt flaring _gloriously_ – before Figgins can ream into him for swearing.

So Mercedes just takes his arm, says, “Let’s bounce,” and steals Kurt’s phone to fire off a text to Blaine.

Later that night, after he’s explained it all to his dad, and then talked it through with Blaine, Kurt emerges from his room, fresh from his moisturising routine, and curls up next to Mercedes on the couch.

“My dad’s going to make me transfer,” he tells her. “There was—the stuff with Karofsky and this—it was the last straw.”

“Where?” Mercedes asks.

“Dalton,” Kurt answers shortly.

And Mercedes thinks, okay. That’s okay, Kurt. It’s okay. We’re still best friends.

And they are.

“So you and Blaine, huh?” Mercedes eventually says, because, well, Kurt is her best friend, and she loves him, and nothing makes him smile like Blaine Anderson.

Kurt smiles. He’s predictable like that. “Me and Blaine.”

And that’s that.


	3. iii. Wesley Montogomery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes doesn’t hate Kurt. Kurt just makes it really, really difficult to like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this warning-worthy, but there are some not-so-nice remarks made about various character's proclivities in bed in this chapter. Nothing is really specifically mentioned, but yeah, there's that.

Wes doesn’t _hate_ Kurt. Kurt just makes it really, really difficult to like him.

Kurt joins Dalton barely six weeks before they’re due to break up for summer, and spends his first five days at the private academy working his way onto Wes’s list of _persona non grata_ when it comes to his personal life. The countertenor from McKinley is abrasive, disrespectful, and wilfully oblivious to tradition. What’s more, Jeff thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread, and Wes finds the blond junior equally, if not more obnoxious.

That said, Wes doesn’t _hate_ Kurt, and as such, finds it in his soul to be worried for the kid when he finds out about the _real_ reason for his transfer.

Blaine Anderson.

Wes would be lying if he said he didn’t idolise the man a bit. Who in the Warblers doesn’t, though? Blaine Anderson is a living legend. He took the Warblers to their first ever National Show Choir Championships title in his senior year, and graduated valedictorian and a nationally ranked fencer. It’s impossible to go through the lists of Dalton’s successful alumni without seeing Blaine Anderson’s name there; he owns a veritable business empire in the music production industry, _and_ he donates generously to the school each time they hold a fundraiser.

He’s polite, dapper and basically embodies everything a Dalton boy aspires to be.

He’s also apparently the kind of guy who dates a kid – and yes, Wes does mean _kid,_ because anyone who looks at Kurt and sees anything else is visually impaired– ten years his junior.

The worst thing about it all, though, is how Wes finds out.

Dalton’s dean of studies calls Wes into his office the day before Kurt’s transfer and lays down in no uncertain terms how the new kid’s supposed to be treated by every single member of Dalton’s student body.

Basically, Kurt’s to be treated like the freakin’ Second Coming.

Because he’s banging one of the school’s most important donors.

It makes Wes sick to the stomach when he finds out, because it hits him that _he_ had some part in the genesis of this relationship. _He_ was the one who extended the invitation to that fundraiser out to Kurt, _he_ was the one who made sure Kurt knew enough about how the events were held not to look like an idiot, _he_ was the one who answered Blaine Anderson when faced with the question of, “Who’s the kid not in uniform?”

It’s not that this is a gay relationship playing out in front of his eyes. It’s not that Wes doesn’t think Blaine Anderson and Kurt are a good match – he doesn’t, in case you were wondering. Blaine’s too mature, too down-to-earth, too _normal_ for someone like Kurt. It’s not even that he objects to the age gap on principal.

It’s just…

Wes remembers first meeting Kurt, and Jeff and Nick may not have been able to see it, but Kurt was _vulnerable,_ then. He was on the edge – of something, and Wes doesn’t want to think about _what_ exactly – teetering dangerously close to falling. That wasn’t the stature – those weren’t the moves and decisions – of someone with a support network.

It would have been dangerously easy to break Kurt back then, and even easier to put him back together exactly how you wanted.

Healthy relationships aren’t born out of circumstances like the Kurt’s. And a happy, well-balanced person wouldn’t choose that sort of relationship.

Kurt Hummel doesn’t have a support network, probably won’t find one at Dalton, and he _needs_ one. He needs safety-nets, _not_ safe-words – God, mind out of the gutter, Wesley – and exits strategies, and neutral ground that he can flee to if need be.

Because as smart and strong and uncompromising as Kurt seems to be, he’s also alone.

And Wes doesn’t _hate_ Kurt, but he doesn’t like him, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do the right thing when he doesn’t even know what that is.

* * *

Dalton never gets used to Kurt; Kurt gets used to Dalton.

As the days drag by, and finals week draws ever nearer, Wes sees less and less daylight and, subsequently, less of Kurt. He catches bare glimpses of the young countertenor between classes, but Kurt’s always got either Nick or Jeff hanging off his arm, and from what Wes has heard on the grapevine, he’s finding his place.

Wes’s concerns about Kurt’s relationship haven’t abated, but, as callous as it sounds, he has bigger problems, most notably beating out Quentin Von Doeberitz – the sycophantic little fucker – for the valedictorian spot. So Wes doesn’t really spend much time thinking about it.

It’s not that Wes doesn’t care, and he doesn’t _hate_ Kurt, but, he’s just…

And yeah, maybe that makes him a bad person, but at least he’ll be a bad person headed off to Ivy League, and he’s pretty sure he can live with it.

Wes, however, has forgotten the most crucial thing about teenagers. Dalton or no, they’re still teenagers, and teenagers are sadistic shits.

* * *

 

_“—you like that, huh Hummel? Being **dominated** in bed—”_

It’s one of the rare occasions that Wes has an afternoon free of studying. He’s exactly where he needs to be on his study-plan, and taking a couple of hours off to stretch his legs is probably the best move he can take now that he has some free time.

Which is why it really pisses him off that a group of juniors have decided to ruin his calming walk by being complete and utter assholes.

There are four of them, total, all sneering above Kurt as he tries to read his biology textbook in the Dalton courtyard. Lucas Leblanc, James Fitzroy, Makao Watanabe, and Kevin Mandeville – Wes checks off each of their names in his head as he approaches.

_“Does he make you beg, Hummel—”_

“I really don’t think you’re in any position to be talking about begging, Lucas,” Wes comments casually, eyebrows drawn together to show just how _unimpressed_ by this little display he is. The five boys, Kurt included, whip their heads around to look at him. “After the audio show you and your girlfriend gave the whole dorm, I don’t think anyone is left wondering after your proclivities between the sheets.”

Lucas flushes an angry shade of red.

“ _’Oh please, please, please baby, let me come_ ,’” recites Wes flatly.

Makao takes this chance to straighten up. “Oh fuck off, Montgomery,” he spits.

“Oh and don’t even get me started on _you,_ Makao,” Wes says with a shrug. “We all know it was you who got caught frolicking in the high-jump pit with Dean Netherson’s daughter – I shudder to think of the size of the bribe your parents sent his way to keep you in school. And Kevin, you shouldn’t look so innocent either; the walls between the computer study rooms are _really_ thin.”

Wes flickers his gaze over to the last boy. “As for you, James, I haven’t actually heardanything about you. I’m beginning to wonder if you even know _how._ ”

“Wes—” James starts, but Wes holds up a hand.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he tells them. “Now, you can either stick around and I can wrack my brain for whatever other sordid details I know about your sex lives, or you can scram and I’ll think about not reporting this to the dean.”

They don’t even hesitate for a second. Wes watches them leave, very much aware of Kurt’s tense form beside him.

Wes eyes the brunette teen critically. “Harassment policy or no harassment policy, Kurt,” Wes says, “never be afraid to give as good as you get.”

Kurt calmly shuts his biology textbook. “It doesn’t bother me,” he says, and the comment throws Wes completely, because, from what he can tell, that’s the _truth._

“Look, Wes,” Kurt goes on, packing up his books. “I’m not an idiot. I know you don’t like me and I know you probably don’t like that I’m dating Blaine, but here’s the thing.” He shrugs. “I don’t care. Not many people in this world like me and not many people approve of Blaine – luckily for me there aren’t many people whose opinions I care about.”

Kurt throws his satchel over his shoulder.

“I appreciate what you did for me,” Kurt tells him, “but it wasn’t necessary.”

Wes knows that he should make a comment – offer his couch in case things turn bad with Blaine – but he doesn’t think it would be welcome.

“It wasn’t necessary,” Kurt goes on, “but, Wes, _thank you._ ”

And then he walks away.

And Wes doesn’t know what to think.

* * *

Sometimes, in a sleep-deprived haze of discontent, Wes wonders if he’d truly be able to live with himself if things turn bad between Blaine and Kurt.

The thing is – it’s not really his business. Kurt’s above the age of consent, Blaine isn’t in a position of trust with concern to Kurt – as far as the law is concerned, there isn’t anything wrong with their relationship. And maybe they’re not a good match, but in reality, that’s for them to decide, no him.

And Wes met Kurt’s father at the Warblers’ last performance – the man seemed like the type to _shoot_ anyone who threatened his son’s well-being.

It’s not Wes’s business who Kurt dates, and Wes doesn’t _hate_ Kurt, but he most certainly doesn’t like him enough to make it so. He doesn’t think Kurt would appreciate him making the effort even if that was the case.

Wes often finds it hard to put his trust in other people’s judgement – he’s kind of a control-freak like that – but here, he thinks it’s probably best if he does.

And if things go bad between Blaine and Kurt, he’s pretty sure he’d be able to live with it, because he’s seen Kurt come back from greater hits than heartbreak.

* * *

If Wes doesn’t like Kurt, he probably feels something closer to despair when faced with one Jeffrey Sterling. Jeff’s the offspring of two of the greatest minds in politics – he certainly has potential in his genetics – but the blond ball of annoyance has yet to show any such aptitude. At least Wes can look at Jeff and say he _tried,_ but there’s only so far that Wes’s phenomenal reserves of patience will stretch.

That said, Jeff is probably the only one on Dalton’s campus apart from Kurt who truly has all the data in regards to the Kurt-Blaine relationship, so Wes prepares himself for at least ten minutes of teeth-gritting and fist-clenching and pulls Jeff aside after Warbler practice for a talk. It’s not as bad as Wes is expecting.

Jeff seems to get where Wes is coming from, but he’s not worried. He says something else – something like _captain of the ship,_ whatever that means – and then rolls his eyes at Wes and pulls out his phone.

Saved in his images folder, titled _Blurt!_ ,is a picture of Kurt and Blaine. Kurt’s talking animatedly about something, doing that weird _talking with his hands_ thing that Wes kind of hates, but Blaine’s just _looking_ at Kurt.

There’s a lot in that look.

Now, Wes doesn’t _hate_ Kurt, and he doesn’t _like_ him, but even he can see that Blaine Anderson subscribes to neither of those feelings.

Blaine Anderson is in love with Kurt.

Wes isn’t an idealistic freshman anymore. He knows that love doesn’t solve everything.

But Kurt was broken and someone put him back together and the more Wes looks at it, the more he realises it must have been Blaine.

* * *

 

Kurt Hummel leaves Dalton barely three days before Wes’s graduation. There’s no explanation, and no one asks for one, even if Wes is certain that Jeff and Nick know why.

And Wes didn’t like Kurt, but he didn’t hate him, and maybe he had grown a little fond of the boy during his time there.

Years later, when he’s pushing himself through his twenty-eighth consecutive hour awake at his New York City law firm, Wes looks up and sees Kurt’s face on a bill-board. It creeps him the fuck out, because, _dear God, dear Lord, is he really that sleep deprived?_

Wes passes it again the next day, when he’s marginally better rested, and the name beneath the face catches his eye.

 _Kurt Anderson-Hummel,_ the billboard reads, and Wes can’t help but smile.


	4. iv. William Schuester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is all this stuff about Kurt Hummel?” Will asks. “He’s been, uh, ‘out’ for a while now, so I don’t really see the need for—”
> 
> Melissa looks at him strangely. “Haven’t you heard?” she asks. “Ho— _Kurt_ is, well, I wouldn’t say _dating_ , per se…”
> 
> Kim rolls her eyes at Melissa’s hesitance. “He’s screwing a middle-aged business man over in Westerville,” she informs Will bluntly. “Can we go?”
> 
> Will is too busy trying to pick his jaw up off the floor to do anything more than nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry. I know, I know, I know -- I suck. I've been super busy lately though, so... Don't kill me?
> 
> Oh and this chapter deals with the Karofsky Debacle, so warnings for all the nastiness associated with that -- assault, death threats, homophobia.

Now, Will’s not homophobic. He has gay friends, and he may not get what they find attractive about other men, but it doesn’t bother him. To each their own, Will thinks.

Will’s not homophobic; he just doesn’t like Kurt.

It’s not that Kurt’s gay – that has _nothing_ to do with it at all – but Will just finds Kurt a bit … intolerable. What Will means is, yes, Kurt’s gay, but does he really need to be shouting it at every opportunity? If Kurt’s not making snide comments about liking… _that,_ then the teen is dressing provocatively in jeans that are far too tight to be considered modest, and singing in a range usually reserved for sopranos.

Kurt grates on Will’s nerves in all the worst ways – has this contrary sense of self that leads to stubbornness at all the wrong times. He seems to delight in butting heads with Will, and faces every turn in each of their arguments with a superior smirk that makes Will want to punch something.

But that’s just Kurt being Kurt.

It has nothing to do with his sexuality.

* * *

 

Will can’t help but feel that Kurt’s problem with Karofsky would go away if the teen just learned to tone it down a little. There’s nothing wrong with self-expression, but there is a time and a place for everything, and a high school full of jocks twice your size and just looking for an excuse to pound you into the ground – that’s not it.

So Will has sympathy for Kurt when he breaks down in front of him, but he can’t help but feel that there’s an element of Kurt that brought this upon himself.

There isn’t a single fibre of Will’s being that doubts that the jocks are targeting Kurt because of his sexuality, but it’s exactly the same for the other glee kids. The football team target Rachel, and Finn, and Quinn because of who they are too, and it can’t be as bad as Kurt is making it out to be. _It can’t._ Will would have had an office full of crying kids long ago if that were the case.

But Will’s not homophobic, so he tamps down on the part of him that just wants to tell Kurt to man up and deal with it, picks up the crying kid and leads him to Sue’s office. As much as Will is both resentful and suspicious of Sue’s position as principal, he will concede that she’s the authority figure here and, as such, the person who gets to decide how this gets dealt with. It’s her problem.

By the time they reach the office, Kurt is shaking, barely able to walk, and Will bites back on his impulse to roll his eyes. Jesus Christ, he thinks, pull yourself together.

Will seats Kurt in front of Sue and finds himself when he sees something akin to fondness in the vicious woman’s eyes as she quizzes Kurt on his experiences. Kurt crumples like paper in front of Sue, before he finally mumbles something which sounds awfully like—

“Speak up, Porcelain,” Sue commands. “Cheerios don’t mumble.”

Kurt looks at Sue Sylvester with red-rimmed eyes. “He threatened to kill me.”

And Will has never felt like more of an asshole.

* * *

 

David Karofsky’s expulsion is overturned just a week later, and Will wishes he could say he’s surprised. It’s the way of the world, though. While the underdog may triumph in TV and movies, in reality, it’s the underdog that is the one who gets crushed underfoot.

There isn’t really much more Will can do for Kurt. He encourages the glee kids in their plans for a secret service-esque operation, and makes sure to keep an eye out for Kurt in the halls, but it’s impossible for Kurt to be under his watchful eye every hour of every day. Sooner or later, someone was always going to slip up.

And slip up they do.

The incident happens before the month is over – just on the cusp of October turning to November – and it changes everything.

Despite not being there personally for any of it, Will gets relayed the second hand version of events by one of the key players, Coach Shannon Beiste.

Apparently Shannon was looking for Sam Evans – to give him another talk about body image, but Shannon’s concerns about the boy aren’t common knowledge, so Will is content not to press for details on that front – when she heard the sounds of a struggle in the locker room. Given that the increasing tensions in her team have led more often than not to roughhousing from her boys, Shannon went to investigate.

Only it wasn’t just roughhousing.

And it wasn’t two members of her team.

David Karofsky was pressing Kurt Hummel up against the lockers, hands gripped like a vice around the smaller boy’s neck, Kurt’s face a deathly pale.

What happened next isn’t really certain to Will. Shannon has admitted herself that she wasn’t really thinking, just reacting to the scene in front of her, but the takeaway is this: Karofsky is expelled and the Hummels are pressing charges against him.

Karofsky is gone and Kurt is … different.

It’s not really a noticeable change to anyone who isn’t looking closely, but Emma picks up on it and points it out to Will. Where Kurt was aloof before, he’s barely there anymore, and Kurt’s contempt for anyone he deems not worth his time is now more of a cool hatred.

According to Emma, this is to be expected. He’s dealing with a heavily traumatic event, and if this change in attitude is his way of processing it, then they need to let him go about it his way. Recovery isn’t something you can force in other people, Emma says, and by all means Kurt is doing a lot better than he should be.

Something twists in Will when Kurt walks in that first day after the incident, displaying the dark bruise around his neck like a _battle-scar_. Will knows for a fact that Kurt’s got nearly three hundred silk scarves he could use to cover it up, and Will is _certain_ that Kurt knows just how uncomfortable he’s making everyone around him. It’s unnecessarily confrontational, and after what happened to him, Will thinks Kurt really should have learned that adopting that attitude isn’t a good idea.

The thing is, every time that Will opens his mouth to _tell_ Kurt this, Kurt turns his gaze on Will and just _looks_ at him. Will has never noticed before, but for all his posturing and arrogance, Kurt possesses a mix of vulnerability and strength that’s almost … unsettling.

 _Go on, ask me,_ Kurt’s gaze says, _I dare you._

It’s another coping mechanism, Emma says. Will isn’t so sure.

As subtle as the differences are, Kurt has _changed._ And if this is a coping mechanism… Will isn’t so sure it serves as one so much as it serves as a spiral into self-destruction.

* * *

It takes time, as all these things do, but gradually, Kurt seems to heal. As the bruises around his neck slowly fade into his skin, the muscles in Kurt’s back seem to relax minutely. He starts talking back again, starts talking to Mercedes again.

He seems to have grown a few inches in height by Christmas and if that isn’t a metaphor for his recovery, then Will doesn’t know what is.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for it all to collapse once more.

* * *

 

It’s nearly six months after the mess with Karofsky that Will finally finds out about Kurt’s scandalous relationship with an older man, and thinks back on that phrase – _coping mechanism_ – again. He finds out much the same way that he finds out about a lot of things at McKinley: the sub-par note-passing skills in one of his Spanish classes.

After plucking the hastily thrown piece of paper off one of his students’ desks during a listening exercise, Will unfurls the scrunched up note and casts a precursory glance over it. He’s about to throw it away with a long-suffering roll of his eyes and an accompanying lecture when he spots a familiar name – or, rather, nickname – on the sheet of paper in front of him.

_DID YOU HEAR ABOUT HOMO HUMMEL?_

Will bites his lip, glances around the class – who are, thankfully, fully involved in their work for once – and then reads on.

_DUH. IT’S FUCKING GROSS IS WHAT IT IS._

_IKR! BUT I’M NOT SURPRISED. WE ALL KNEW THE FAG WAS A KINKY LITTLE SHIT WHAT WITH THE TAKING IT UP THE AS—_

Will hurriedly stops reading, crumpling the note up in his palm. There are some things he just plain doesn’t want to read about, and his students’ sex lives would be one of the many items on that list. This doesn’t make much sense, though. Kurt’s sexuality isn’t exactly news – Kurt’s even commented that his own coming out was more of a formality than anything else – so why is it suddenly such a hot topic?

Will quickly catalogues the owners of the note – two fairly average students, Kim Partridge and Melissa Dubont – and when class is over, he motions for them to stay behind. They both look terrified.

“Look, Mr Schuester, about the note,” Kim starts, but Will cuts her off.

“This isn’t about the note,” he tells her. “Well, it is, but more about the contents.”

Kim and Melissa both share a look, like they’re expecting him to get on their case about the rather, uh, _coarse_ language, but that’s not Will’s intention.

“What is all this stuff about Kurt Hummel?” Will asks. “He’s been, uh, ‘out’ for a while now, so I don’t really see the need for—”

Melissa looks at him strangely. “Haven’t you heard?” she asks. “Ho— _Kurt_ is, well, I wouldn’t say _dating,_ per se…”

Kim rolls her eyes at Melissa’s hesitance. “He’s screwing a middle-aged business man over in Westerville,” she informs Will bluntly. “Can we go?”

Will is too busy trying to pick his jaw up off the floor to do anything more than nod.

* * *

Over the following few hours, once Will has learned to open his ears up to the gossip that’s spreading around McKinley, he learns several things about Kurt’s relationship with this older man.

The first is that the man’s name is Blaine Anderson, and a quick google search reveals that Anderson is definitely a member of that elusive one percent.

The second is that this … _affair_ has been going on for quite some time – dating back to as early as Christmas.

The third is that Kurt has so far been extremely resistant to any attempt to help him.

“He walked out on our appointment together,” Emma tells Will over lunch, her dainty fingers picking at her sandwich. “I’m very worried about him, Will. He’s been through so much recently, and I just wish he didn’t feel like he had to turn to this sort of thinginstead of reaching out for help.”

Will shakes his head. “It’s just so wrong,” he says softly. “Does his father even know?”

Emma smiles wryly. “If he didn’t, I’d say he does now.”

* * *

Glee club is, in a word, unpleasant.

Will wants to talk to Kurt, to tell him exactly why this relationship is so wrong, but he can’t look at Kurt’s face without flashing back to the days after the Karofsky mess, and he doubts that his input would be helpful. It’s best just to let Emma do her job.

And then there are the other Glee-clubbers, who just add to the unpleasantness in their own unique ways.

Will could really do without Santana’s own brand of inappropriateness right now, and Kurt looks to be on the verge of—something. It’s almost terrifying for Will, seeing Kurt sat there, silent and impassive, and he wonders what happened to the kid he used to know.

_Coping mechanism._

If this is another _coping mechanism_ – and if Will were speaking aloud, he’d be spitting those words out – then Will doesn’t know what to think.

And it’s not about homophobia. It’s not.

Will may not _like_ Kurt, but Kurt is still his student, and he has a duty of care towards him. And Will is _worried_ about Kurt – more worried than with the Karofsky thing – because this is _dangerous_ and Kurt is either wilfully ignorant to that fact or oblivious. Getting involved with an older man isn’t something Kurt would normally do, and it’s just— _wrong._

As soon as Will decides to talk to Kurt, the bell rings and Kurt is the first one out of the room.

* * *

 

Will feels something in him relax at the news that Kurt and Mercedes will be going to prom together. He hasn’t heard anything in the teachers’ lounge about Anderson recently, so he hopes – futile though it may be – that this means that he and Kurt have broken up.

Then Kurt gets elected prom queen and everything goes to hell.

Will is starting to wonder why everything gets phenomenally more complicated when Kurt is involved – it’s like the kid is _trying_ to make their lives difficult – and wants to bash his head against a wall when Principal Figgins calls them all into his office to talk about the lawsuit that Burt Hummel is bringing against the school. There’s talk of pay-cuts to finance it, and Sue practically throws a fit when she discovers that most of the money will be coming from the Cheerios’ budget.

And Kurt’s leaving McKinley.

Will spots Kurt walking down the hallway outside the office, a box of his belongings in his arms, and dashes out of the room.

“Kurt!” he calls, powerwalking to catch up with the teenager. “Kurt!”

Kurt turns around, but when he sees that it’s Will, he rolls his eyes. “What, have you come to try and persuade me to stay? Glee club needs its twelve members, right?”

The bitterness in Kurt’s tone takes Will by surprise. “I just wanted to tell you that you’ll be missed,” Will tells Kurt sincerely. He considers it for a moment, then adds, “I’ve been worried about you a lot lately.”

Kurt’s eyes narrow. “Oh, right, because of my _abusive relationship_ with an older man,” he says, and Will can practically _hear_ the eye-roll in his voice. “Just—leave, Mr Schue. Take your internalized homophobia elsewhere. I’ve heard it all before.”

Will stops dead. “I’m not a homophobe, Kurt,” he says.

Kurt snorts – he actually _snorts._ “Right,” he says, the sarcasm practically _oozing_ from his voice. “You just do and say homophobic things.”

“I would have a problem with this sort of relationship if _any_ of the Glee kids were involved with it, Kurt,” Will tells him sternly. “It has nothing to do with your sexuality.”

“Really?” Kurt asks, eyebrows raised, face the picture of incredulity. “Then why did you keep your mouth shut last year when Puck was sleeping his way through all of Lima’s most eligible cougars?”

“That’s different, K—”

Kurt nods. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Puck is a _real man._ If it were Rachel, or Brittany, however…”

Will frowns. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with what you’re implying, Kurt.”

“I’m not implying anything, Mr Schue,” Kurt says. “I’m stating it outright: you’re a homophobe and a misogynist, and you’re so much worse than anyone else because you _pretend_ like you care.”

Before Will can reply, Kurt bolsters his hold on his box of belongings and turns around. “My dad’s waiting for me in the parking lot.”

He leaves.

Will wonders why he feels like he just missed the point entirely.

* * *

Kurt’s back at McKinley by the end of the school year.

He’s more like the old Kurt – fierce and _sharp_ in that very Kurt-like way of his – but his interactions with Will never breach a cool and professional courtesy. He never talks about his time at the other school – Dalton – but Will can tell it let him grow in a way that McKinley never did.

The only time Will ever sees Blaine Anderson is at Kurt’s graduation. The businessman is sat in the third row back, next to Burt and Carole, and leaps to his feet when Kurt’s name is called. He looks proud, and his grin is brimming with second-hand happiness.

It makes Will’s stomach shift.

But Will’s not homophobic.

It’s not about being gay, it’s about the age-difference, and it’s about the power-imbalance, and it’s about Kurt being Kurt.

Because Will isn’t a homophobe.


	5. v. Burt Hummel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine is a good guy, but Burt is fiercely protective and _good_ doesn’t always translate into _good enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the long awaited Burt POV. I hope it lives up to expectations?
> 
> ~~It probably won't live up to expectations.~~

The worst thing about all of this is that Burt actually _likes_ Blaine.

The twenty-seven year old businessman makes it nigh on impossible to actively dislike him – he’s the type of guy any father _dreams_ of dating his kid. It’s all honour and duty and looking positively affronted at the idea that he’d _ever_ let any harm befall Kurt. He talks cars and football with Burt, and each time they eat together stands and starts to clear the plates afterwards when they’re done. Kurt actually has to physically outrun him so that he doesn’t spring up at the end of each meal.

Blaine’s a good guy.

It’s almost unfortunate that he’s dating Burt’s son.

It hasn’t been the easiest year for Burt and it most certainly has not been the easiest year for Kurt either. Things in the Hummel house have cycled through a continuum of tension, desperation and relief that’s as brutal as it is relentless. They’re still holding it together, though, and Burt will cling onto Kurt with everything he has if that’s the way to stop them from falling apart.

Blaine is a good guy, but Burt is fiercely protective and _good_ doesn’t always translate into _good enough._

* * *

 

When Kurt tells Burt about Blaine, he starts the conversation by telling him to take a seat. That alone is enough to put Burt on edge, and he’s preparing himself for the worst – Karofsky is back again, _oh God,_ please don’t let Karofsky be back again – when Kurt says, “I met someone.”

Burt blinks at the whiplash between expectation and reality. “Okay,” he says.

Kurt winces. “You’re not going to approve of him,” he tells Burt, and, well, if _that_ doesn’t set alarm bells off in any parent’s mind, then Burt doesn’t know what will.

“When did you meet this someone?” Burt asks, trying desperately hard not to think the worst again.

Kurt winces once more. “Christmas.”

And— _Jesus._ He knows that he said that he wasn’t ready for Kurt’s relationship details, but does he really seem like he’s the type of father his kid can’t approach? And, oh God, what if Kurt is having sex? He’s not ready to have that discussion with his son, is neither intellectually nor mentally prepared.

“You’re not going to approve of him,” Kurt says again, like it’s an explanation. Then, quieter, “He’s older.”

Burt feels his eyebrows shoot up. “How much older?” he asks.

Kurt looks pained. “He’s twenty-seven.”

Burt can feel all the colour draining out of his face, and thinks he’d probably be stumbling if he wasn’t already sat down. Oh God. _Oh God._ Panicking isn’t going to do this discussion any good, though, so Burt forces calm on himself.

“Sit down, Kurt,” he says, sighing deeply.

Kurt sits without protest.

He thinks it goes without saying, but Burt tells him anyway. “I don’t approve of this.”

Kurt bits his lips. “Okay.”

“He’s ten years older than you,” Burt adds.

“I know,” Kurt says.

Burt exhales raggedly. “I _really_ don’t approve of this,” he says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Burt watches his son inhale, eyes closed. “I’m in love with him,” he eventually says. “He’s in love with me.”

Well, what can Burt say in return to that? He knows better than to call his son deluded, or to tell Kurt that he doesn’t know what he feels. Kurt hasn’t been a kid in a long time – he grew up ten years overnight when he was eight – and Burt doesn’t want to try and trivialise everything that Kurt has done for him – for their family – by denying him the maturity he has earned.

“I want to meet him,” Burt chooses to say.

* * *

Blaine – the _man_ that his son has chosen to date – introduces himself with a charming smile. “Hello,” he says cordially, sticking out his hand for Burt to shake. “I’m Blaine Anderson.”

Burt does nothing to hide his frown. “I don’t like you,” he says, and very pointedly does not take Blaine’s hand. Burt catches Kurt rolling his eyes behind Blaine and shoots him a look. Kurt rolls his eyes again.

There’s an oddly tense silence, then Blaine’s smile melts away. He seems younger without it. “I wouldn’t either,” he says.

Burt still doesn’t take Blaine’s hand. Gaze still on Kurt, he nods gruffly. “Come in.”

Blaine does so.

* * *

So maybe Burt takes pleasure in making Blaine squirm over dinner. It’s obvious within a few seconds that the age difference between him and Kurt is something that Blaine’s not entirely at ease with, so it’s really not difficult for Burt to do things to remind Blaine of that.

So he offers Blaine beer – which he turns down, citing that he rarely drinks, and if that’s an attempt to impress Burt, it’s not working – and brings up Blaine’s job – he owns a record label, apparently, and Burt makes sure to raise an eyebrow to show Blaine just how unimpressed he is by that. Blaine takes it all genially, answering the questions politely, at least until Burt mentions family.

From the look on Kurt’s face alone, Burt can tell that he’s just brought up an off-limits subject.

Blaine looks like someone has punched him in the gut. “They don’t talk to me anymore,” he admits. “They don’t approve of me being—” Blaine shakes his head. “They didn’t approve of my sexuality and when I went off to study musical theory at college instead of something more practical, that was, uh, the final straw so to speak.”

Kurt outright _glares_ at Burt, which, okay, Burt kind of had it coming.

Another pause settles over them. It’s uncomfortable.

“You like football?” Burt eventually asks.

Blaine seems to relax slightly. “I’m a buckeyes man through and through, Mr Hummel.”

And Mr Hummel was Burt’s father. It’s not a sign of approval, but Burt grunts. “Call me Burt.”

Across the table, Blaine nods. “Okay,” he agrees easily.

It’s not a sign of approval, but Kurt smiles at Burt like it means something.

Maybe it does.

* * *

Burt concocts a bullshit excuse to get rid of Kurt after dessert. Kurt looks at his father like he knows _exactly_ what the older man is doing, but leaves without fuss. Burt catches him looking at Blaine like he’s saying goodbye, which makes something twist in his stomach.

Burt isn’t that father. He was never going to forbid Kurt from seeing Blaine, because he understands the futility in trying to stop his son from doing anything. Just—Kurt _would_ stop seeing Blaine if he asked. Even if it made Kurt miserable, he’d stop.

_I’m in love with him. He’s in love with me._

Burt doesn’t know if this relationship is healthy if Kurt’s looking for an escape from that sort of commitment. He knows this, though, that as much as his kid dating an older man – a man with power, even if he seems harmless enough – scares Burt, it scares Kurt just as much, if not more.

Kurt shouldn’t have to be afraid in his relationships.

“You’re a good guy,” Burt tells Blaine. It’s the truth. If there’s one thing that Burt has learned over the past hour of awkwardness, it’s that Blaine is in this because he’s in love with Kurt. He’s a good guy.

Blaine nods. “But?” he prompts.

“But you’re _ten years_ older than my son,” Burt says. “You’re old enough to be one of my friends – heck, you’re old enough to be my _boss_ – and I don’t—I can’t be okay with this.”

There’s another silence, full of consideration, before Blaine fixes Burt with a near desperate look. “What can I do to make you okay with this?”

Burt stills. “Treat him right,” he says simply, standing up. He slaps a hand down on Blaine’s shoulder. “Kurt, you can stop listening at the door now,” he calls out.

Kurt appears at the doorway, unabashed.

Burt fixes his son with a look. “You and I are having another discussion later,” he says. “Now say goodbye to your boyfriend.”

Kurt smiles at Burt and then at Blaine. It’s honestly the happiest that Burt’s seen Kurt since Karofsky.

As he moves to leave, Burt pauses on Blaine. “Oh and, Blaine? I do have a shotgun.” He slaps Blaine’s shoulder again. “Things to think about.”

* * *

Later that night, Burt sits down on the foot of Kurt’s bed as his son completes his moisturising routine. “You scared of him?” he asks.

“Of Blaine?” Kurt snorts. “I could totally take him down if need be, Dad.” He flexes a bicep. “Cheerleading muscles, remember.”

As comforting as that is – Burt will maybe be sending Sue Sylvester a thank you card – that’s not really what Burt asked. “But you are scared,” he states.

Kurt pauses halfway through applying one of his lotions. “Yeah,” he admits. “Terrified.”

“Why?” Burt presses.

Kurt turns away from the mirror. “Because I’m seventeen years old, Dad,” he says, “and I’m _in love with Blaine._ This isn’t a teenage first boyfriend thing, Dad, this is full-blown, my-heart-belongs-to-no-other _love,_ and I’m _seventeen._ Who finds their soulmate at seventeen?”

Burt doesn’t know what to say to that. “Lucky people.”

Kurt smiles. “I really love him, Dad.”

“I know.”

Kurt sighs. “You still don’t approve.”

Burt shrugs. “Not yet,” he concedes, “but from the sounds of it, you and Blaine are going to have quite a bit of time to change my mind.”

Burt is fully prepared for the hug that comes crashing at him in the form of his teenage son.

* * *

 

“When I first met Blaine, I spent a good hour slowly making myself an expert in all the ways that I could make him uncomfortable. As overdone as the over-protective father thing is, I hope he can forgive me for that truly awkward dinner. Here I am, though, four years later, and I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t know this was coming ever since that night. If there’s one thing I know about my son, it’s that he loves with his whole heart. It’s something he got from his mother.

“It’s taken me a long time to trust Blaine with my son, but never once has he broken that trust. So, Blaine, this is the final declaration of that trust. Take care of Kurt, Mr Anderson-Hummel. I still have that shotgun.”


	6. vi. Jeff Sterling and Nick Duval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jeff, he’s _twenty-seven_ years old,” Nick points out. “Kurt is _seventeen_. That’s _ten years_ between them.”
> 
> “I’m aware,” Jeff replies. “I am passing math.”
> 
> “Barely,” Nick adds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one. This is the +1 chapter, i.e. the people that approve of the relationship from the get-go...

To outsiders looking in on Jeff’s relationship with Nick, all they see are their differences. Jeff’s loud; Nick’s quiet. Jeff’s on the lacrosse team; Nick took the school to the National Debating Championships last year. When Jeff smiles, his entire face shows the expression; when Nick smiles, it’s in his eyes.

It’s almost incomprehensible to both the Warblers and the school of Dalton at large that they’re best friends – inseparable, joined at the hip, and freakishly in-tune with each other’s thoughts.

And they’re agreed on this: Kurt and Blaine are kind of perfect for each other.

From the moment Jeff met Kurt – a well-dressed spy on the stairwell in Dalton – he knew that the countertenor from McKinley was destined for far greater things than _all of this._ Kurt was a New York boy born into Ohio – the type of kid that was never going to fit in with his classmates over in Lima, because he wasn’t even operating in the same orbital as them. Kurt pulls focus without even realising it, can stand in a room dead-silent and still seem to be shouting, and Jeff wonders if there’s anyone on earth with enough strength to compel Kurt to do anything he’s completely against.

These qualities simultaneously make Kurt the most interesting kid Jeff has ever met and the worst spy ever.

One look at Kurt is all it takes for Jeff to come to the conclusion that he’s most certainly _not_ a Dalton boy – poor imitation of the uniform aside – but he kind of just … fits. His presence in the room seems so incongruous in amongst the mass of blazers, but Jeff knows that there’s a part of Kurt – no matter how small – that _belongs_ here.

“ _No,”_ is Nick’s response to Jeff’s unspoken question, once they’ve sent Kurt on his merry way back to McKinley and their sectionals competition, the New Directions.

“What?” Jeff asks innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Nick states flatly. “And the answer is still _no_.”

“Oh _come_ on,” Jeff whines.

Nick raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Do I have to say it in Latin? _Minime._ We’re not making him into some kind of … _pet project._ ”

“But he’s a _countertenor,_ Nick,” Jeff points out. “Wes would sell his soul for one of those to join the Warblers. And since Wilbur left last semester there’s been a music scholarship floating around unclaimed.”

“Jeff, _no._ ”

“And maybe I don’t even want to try and make him into a pet project,” Jeff protests. “Maybe I just want to be his friend.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Then be his friend,” he says, but pauses. “You do remember how to do that, right?”

Jeff shoves him lightly. “Oh fuck you,” he says. “I’ll have you know I’ve been told I’m a very good friend.”

“By whom?” Nick snorts. “And you can’t say me – Stockholm Syndrome doesn’t count.”

Jeff responds by giving him the finger.

* * *

_Oh God, this is Kurt, right? It would be seriously embarrassing if I got given the wrong number._

**_Yes, this is Kurt. Who is this?_ **

_Jeff. From the Warblers. Remember?_

**_OK, hi Jeff. Why are you texting me? Should I be worried?_ **

_Just wanted to say hi. And maybe ask if you want to get coffee sometime?_

_Kurt?_

_Have I crossed a line?_

**_No, it’s OK. I just thought you and that Nick guy had a thing._ **

_Shiiroutwjkfd_

**_Jeff?_ **

_Hi Kurt, it’s Nick. Jeff’s otherwise occupied at the moment. Just to clarify: Jeff and I aren’t together; we’re both straight; the coffee thing was Jeff trying to befriend you and failing miserably._

**_Oh. OK._ **

_Hsfddkjafhgdjfskqawedser_

_Sorry, Jeff again. What does ‘Oh. OK.’ mean?_

**_It means oh. OK._ **

_So coffee?_

**_Coffee sounds great._ **

* * *

 

Coffee with Kurt soon becomes a regular thing. As sectionals come and go, coffee with Kurt turns into impromptu jam sessions with Kurt, which then turn into Kurt’s tentative honorary Warbler status. Wes doesn’t really say anything about Kurt’s growing relationship with the Warblers, but Jeff can tell the council-member doesn’t like it. Just—

Well, Jeff tends to take Wes’s attitudes as a guideline of everything he’s going to go against.

There is, of course, one small downside.

Nick and Kurt get along _swimmingly._ Like a fucking house on fire.

Jeff’s not jealous. He’s not possessive of his best friend, at least, not to the point where he’s insecure enough to worry about someone stealing him away, but someone should have warned him. Nick and Kurt are _diabolical_ together.

Jeff still has memories of returning to their table at the Lima Bean to find them putting sachets of sugar into their pockets, and thinking, _okay, weird,_ only to discover next week that they’d filled them with salt and given them to him to put in his drink.

So yeah, _like a fucking house on fire._

Recently, Kurt’s seemed a bit happier. He smiles more, holds his head a bit higher, doesn’t wince slightly when he sits down. Jeff doesn’t know much about Kurt’s situation at school – the guy _really_ doesn’t like to talk about it, to the point where he almost got up and _left_ when Jeff brought it up last – but he guesses things must be getting better. Or something approaching that, at least.

“I’m _beat_ ,” Jeff declares, dropping into one of the hard wooden chairs in the Lima Bean.

Nick collapses next to him in a similar fashion.

Kurt quirks a delicate eyebrow above his coffee – _Grande non-fat mocha,_ Jeff has ordered that drink too many times not to know it off by heart – and takes a sip. “Did someone deny you guys caffeine all day or something?” he asks.

Nick pushes his head up off the table. “It’s _go-time_ for all Dalton students,” he explains. “These months are always the worst.”

“Why?”

Jeff forces his eyes to remain open. “Dalton doesn’t believe in the old classic ‘ _finals’_ idea. We sit tests all the time, and right now, we’re always coming to the end of our autumn study units. It happens _every year._ I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in _three weeks,_ and I still don’t understand differential equations.”

Kurt looks appropriately sympathetic.

“Plus, the Warblers have been going absolutely _insane_ when it comes to rehearsing,” Nick adds. “We’ve already had two rehearsals so far _today,_ and there are probably going to be at least six more before the week is up.”

Kurt tilts his head in confusion. “What? Why?” he asks. “Regionals isn’t for ages yet.”

“It’s a Dalton thing,” Nick explains. “There’s an old-boys benefit happening this coming weekend and we’re performing.”

“Sounds fun,” Kurt comments.

“Yeah, if you think hanging around with a bunch of old geezers reminiscing about the ‘good ol’ days’ is _fun_ ,” Jeff says, then reaches across the table to steal a sip of Kurt’s coffee. “You should come,” he tells Kurt, raising the coffee cup and then pressing it to his lips. “Gah,” he makes a face as he swallows. “I always forget how much I hate your coffee.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Simple solution: stop drinking it.” He shakes his head, then catches himself. “Wait, what did you say?”

“Your coffee is gross,” Jeff reiterates, shoving the cup back over to Kurt.

“No, before that.”

Jeff runs over the conversation in his head. “Oh,” he says. “That. Yeah, you should come.”

Kurt stares at him. “ _Why_?”

“It’s all suits and champagne and stuff – very glamorous. You’d love it. ‘Sides, the more people present who aren’t liable to come and tell me that they’d never have gotten away with _whatever_ when they were at Dalton, the better.”

“So, essentially, you want me to act as a buffer between you and the crazy old people,” Kurt surmises.

Jeff shrugs. “Sounds about right.”

It’s around that point that Nick pushes up off the table and announces that he’s recovered enough to go and get some beverages. Jeff loudly shouts his order after his retreating back, getting a, “Of course I know your damn coffee order, Sterling!” shouted back in response.

Kurt smiles and shakes his head minutely, but Jeff catches it and smiles back.

Pet project or no, Kurt is pretty awesome.

* * *

“Holy _shit,_ ” Jeff hisses as he approaches Nick, the champagne glass Nick saw him misappropriate when the barman wasn’t looking held casually in his hand like it belongs there. “Guess who I just caught giving the side-eye to our resident covert operative?”

Nick raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his orange juice. “Do I want to know?” he asks, but Jeff brushes it off easily.

“ _Blaine Anderson,_ ” he informs Nick excitedly.

Nick feels his mouth drop open. “ _Blaine_ Anderson?” he whispers harshly. “Blaine _Anderson_? _Blaine Anderson?_ ”

“Dude, you just said his name three different ways,” Jeff comments.

“Jeff, he’s _twenty-seven_ years old,” Nick points out. “Kurt is _seventeen_. That’s _ten years_ between them.”

“I’m aware,” Jeff replies. “I am passing math.”

“Barely,” Nick adds without thinking, but then stops. He stares at Jeff, rolling his tongue over his teeth as he does and then looks up and across the room and spots the shy half-glances Blaine keeps throwing Kurt’s way when he thinks no one is looking. Oh God, it’s kind of pathetic.

“You’re taking point,” Nick says. “And if at any point, Kurt looks like he’s at all uncomfortable, we bail him out.”

Jeff grins. “You say that like I’m going to be the one to bring it up,” he states. “Kurt’s been trying not to ogle Blaine all night.”

Nick casts his eyes over at Kurt – dressed in a tailored suit that looks like it stepped off the pages of _Vogue_ and was designed for him – and tilts his head to the side. “Ten bucks say they’re dating by the end of the school year.”

“Are you kidding?” Jeff asks. “Two months, at the very most.” He raises his champagne glass at Nick. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and chat to our favourite espionage expert.”

(By the end of the evening, they’re agreed – end of the month, tops.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! More to come, though, in yet another (le gasp!) sequel. I'm sorry. I just love this 'verse so much. :D


End file.
